


Mica and the Warlord

by aunt_zelda



Category: Original Work
Genre: Collars, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Grinding, Groping, Harems, Non-Penetrative Sex, Service Submission, Slavery, Submission, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: Mica had not expected to be picked. He was certain Cerethine, or Asher, would have been chosen. They were beautiful, experienced, and had been the prince’s favorites. Perhaps the Warlord didn’t have the same tastes as the prince. That was worrying. Everything about this was worrying to Mica.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Stern Female Warlord/Her Terrified Virginal Male Drow Concubine
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	Mica and the Warlord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skvadern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/gifts).



> Was intrigued by your letter and prompt, so I wanted to write you a treat. And then the treat ran away from me in terms of length.

It had been a hard campaign and Sigrid was glad to see the end of it. Best of all they had taken the last stronghold before the first snows. Her army could rest and revel through the winter, and come spring their blood would be up again for more conquering. 

Sigrid craved three things at a campaign’s end: a hot bath, a rich meal, and something pretty to entertain her at night. The stronghold’s hot springs satisfied the first. Sigrid luxuriated in the water, letting the ache of battle fade from her weathered body. As she ate with her war leaders, her Right Hand Dagny approached. The woman limped from a wound she’d taken to save Sigrid’s life, a service that had forever earned her a place among Sigrid’s most trusted. While the war leaders saw to the campaigns, her Right Hand saw to personal matters, either in the camp or in strongholds.

“The former prince of this place kept a harem, my Warlord.”

Sigrid grinned. Harems were best of all: someone had already done the difficult work of selecting attractive people and collected them in one convenient spot. Sigrid recalled a harem three campaigns ago with particular fondness, their former patron had been unable to perform in the bedroom after a war wound and the harem’s occupants were eager to prove their talents to Sigrid personally. 

“I have examined the stock and have three in mind.”

“Have you?” Sigrid caught Dagny around the waist and pulled Dagny onto her lap. 

Dagny blushed. It had been some time since they had tumbled together. Sigrid wondered if she ought to remedy that situation. There was much time this winter to reward her Right Hand for excellent service. 

“Tell me about the harem treasures.” Sigrid urged. She took up a goblet of wine and offered it to Dagny.

Dagny drank and nodded. “The former prince’s favorite is a buxom tiefling with dark ringlets. Her skin is pink in hue, and she has pointed teeth. Her hands are firm.”

Sigrid could imagine her vividly. She wondered if the favorite missed her prince. “Go on.”

“The most popular one in the harem is a human. They’re pale, with eyes like emeralds and cornsilk hair. They favor crimson robes. Their hands are dextrous.”

Sigrid smiled at the thought. That one would certainly be a pleasant companion this long winter, if not for her perhaps for Dagny.

“The newest addition arrived just before the siege. A virgin, delivered from a drow temple in the mountains. His hair is silver and his skin is lilac. His hands are soft.”

Sigrid stiffened at this description. “A virgin, you say?”

“Yes. From one of those monasteries. A tithe was expected and so they sent him as payment to the prince. I confirmed that the prince had no time to sample him during the siege, and none of the others in the harem dared do so.”

“Is he hideous then, that none of them were tempted?”

“Oh no, he is very beautiful. They were tempted.” Dagny smirked. “But they were prevented: he wears a Cuckold’s Collar.”

Sigrid’s fingers flexed. That was a wicked device nobles often used on pretty wives before leaving on campaigns: none could so much as touch them sexually without suffering agonizing pain. 

“I have the key of course. With the prince dead, it now reverts to you, my Warlord.” Dagny passed the key to Sigrid.

Sigrid felt a spark of anticipation merely holding the key. “Him. The virgin. Have him brought to my chamber after dinner.”

“How would you like him, my Warlord?” Dagny asked. 

The idea of arriving to him bound naked to the bed was enticing, but Sigrid decided to pace herself. There was all winter to savor this treasure. “Collared. Clothed simply. And let him have no wine.”

Dagny nodded. “It shall be done.” She slipped off of Sigrid’s lap to go make the preparations. 

Sigrid watched her go blatantly, then returned to her meal. Already her mind was alight with the thoughts of the drow virgin. 

\- - -

Mica had not expected to be picked. He was certain Cerethine, or Asher, would have been chosen. They were beautiful, experienced, and had been the prince’s favorites. Perhaps the Warlord didn’t have the same tastes as the prince. That was worrying. Everything about this was worrying to Mica.

In truth he was terrified. He’d been terrified of the harem, the prince, the siege, and now the Warlord. He’d never been bedded, never pleased a lover, only read and dreamt and heard stories and stroked himself at night. 

The Warlord’s servant came again and fetched him. He hadn’t been told to dress differently than his simple sleeping clothes, so he’d followed the servant into the hallway and up the winding stair. This was where the prince had slept. This was where the Warlord slept now. 

Wildly he thought of running, but there was nowhere to go. The palace was full of the Warlord’s soldiers. They would drag him back and probably beat him for the trouble of catching him. 

Would the Warlord beat him? He’d heard stories of such things, brutal conquerors who satisfied their barbarian lusts with the nearest warm body. Mica shuddered at the idea. 

The servant saw his reaction and paused. “Are you well?”

He thought of lying, feigning sickness. Would it matter? Would that doom one of the others? He nodded shakily. 

The servant eyed him dubiously but continued to lead him forward. 

Approaching the final hallway he could stand it no longer. “Please, what does the Warlord …” he tried to find the words to voice his fears “… what does she like?”

The servant paused again, fixing him with a penetrating stare. Finally she said “Obedience. Submission. Honesty.” She laid a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, or possibly to steady Mica from his visible trembling. “All will be well. Obey her, be respectful, and you need fear nothing.”

She could be lying. She could be leading him to a torture chamber. Mica did not know her, nor the Warlord. He had to hope for mercy. 

The servant paused at a door. She knocked, and upon hearing a voice within, opened it and gestured for Mica to enter without her. 

Once again he felt the urge to flee, but instead his feet carried him over the threshold. Mica heard the door shut behind his back and flinched. 

The Warlord stood by the fireplace, warming her hands. Mica was surprised to see her out of her armor, and mentally chided himself for such foolishness: there was no reason to wear armor inside the stronghold.

Her hair was long and tawny, braided in several places and streaked with silver. Her sand-colored skin was weathered from war, and he could see an old scar curling from her cheek to her left ear. She was dressed like a barbarian queen, a heavy robe trimmed with grey fur over a shirt and trousers made of fine fabric and embroidered with intricate patterns. There were several rings glittering on her fingers, a chain of gems at her throat, and a circlet on her head. 

She was a mature woman, he supposed she might be a score of years his senior. He was the youngest of the harem, having only just reached maturity in the spring. He did not understand why she would want him and not one of the others, who knew what they were doing in the bedroom. Surely she was tired from the siege, and wanted to relax in bed with a skilled lover as the prince would after his campaigns? 

Too late Mica realized he was staring. He quickly scrambled to kneel on the cold floor, keeping his eyes low. Mica had been unable to discern any emotions on the Warlord’s face, for all his studying. Was she pleased? Disgusted? Lustful? 

Footfalls approached, muffled as he saw by the fur-lined slippers she wore. He wondered if that was wolf fur too. 

Suddenly he felt her hand grasp chin, forcing him to look up at her face. Her eyes were ice blue and just as sharp. 

“What is your name, little one?” she asked, stroking a thumb over his lower lip. 

“M-Mica.” His voice quavered audibly. 

“Mica.” The Warlord seemed to taste the name on her tongue. “Very well. Bow your head, Mica.”

Clenching his fists to keep still, Mica obeyed. Was she about to cut his head off? Had he already displeased her? 

Instead he felt a brief touch at the back of his neck, heard a distinct metal _click_ , and his collar tumbled to the floor with a clatter. 

Mica felt a surge of relief that he had not been killed, coupled with a spike of fear. The collar had been all that kept him from being touched with a sexual purpose in mind. Now it was gone. He’d thought the prince had the only key. 

“Stand up.” The Warlord said. 

Mica scrambled to obey. 

“Hmmmm,” the Warlord lifted his arms, examined his hands, and even forced his mouth open to peer at his teeth and tongue. All the while Mica was pliant in her grasp. “You have a fine figure, Mica.”

“Thank you?” Mica had not anticipated conversation. 

“Very fine indeed.” The Warlord’s voice grew heavy. She suddenly pulled Mica flush against her body, hands at his hips. “It is a long winter in this land. I look forward to spending it in pleasure.”

Her hands began to roam Mica’s body. He tried not to tremble as her fingers pinched his pointed ears, tugged at his clothing, and cupped his ass. 

The Warlord caught him by the chin again, this time holding him in place for a kiss. 

It was Mica’s first kiss. He had seen them, read about them, but never been kissed before. The Warlord smelled of wine and tasted of rich food. Her tongue thrust into his mouth like a conquering battering ram and Mica was powerless beneath the assault. 

When the Warlord broke the kiss she was laughing. “Your first, I take it?” 

Mica blushed in shame. “I’m, I’m sorry, I … I will be better, I will try, I can –”

“Shhhhhhh, little one,” the Warlord murmured, stroking his flank as though he were a skittish horse. “You have not done this before? With anyone?”

Mica shook his head. “No. I … I’m sorry …” he’d been trained, but nothing physical, nothing practical. He was useless. The others in the harem were going to mock him relentlessly for his failure, if the terrifying Warlord didn’t kill him in bed for displeasing her. 

“That is why I requested you. Foolish boy.” The Warlord snorted. “You have not been sullied by others yet. So I will train you to please me. You will learn quickly.”

The option of not learning quickly did not seem to be available. Mica gulped. “Yes … my lady.”

She scowled. “No. You will call me ‘mistress’ in private, or ‘General’ outside this room.”

Mica shivered. “Yes, Mistress. I am sorry Mistress.”

“See that you do not forget.” She laid a proprietary hand on his shoulder. “Now, to bed. I have much to teach you.” 

\- - - 

The virgin laid down on the bed, trembling in fear of what was to come. Sigrid had taken many virgins before and was eager to discover what sort of lover this one would transform into. Some wept, some went still as death, others were shocked by the sensations, and many became eager and active lovers. 

Sigrid knew it was pointless to assure him with pretty words and delay the inevitable. He would be proved by actions, nothing else would satisfy the fear in his mind. 

“For Storm’s sake, Mica, I’ll not harm you.” She removed her fur robe and then her shirt. 

Mica openly stared at her bare chest. Sigrid wondered what drew his eyes the most: her breasts, her ritual tattoos, or her battle scars. 

“Touch me here, like this,” she took his wrists and brought his hands up to cup her breasts. “Gentle, but firm. Now stroke.” 

The technique was crude, but the result was pleasant. Mica seemed surprised by how Sigrid’s nipples changed, responding to the temperature and his stimulation. 

“Now, your turn.” Sigrid nodded. 

Mica removed his own shirt. His torso was unmarked, no scars, no tattoos, nothing but a light dusting of dark purple freckles over his chest and shoulders. 

Sigrid licked her thumb and forefinger and began to stroke Mica’s nipples to points. 

Mica gasped at the sensation, clearly having never done such a thing to himself. Sigrid didn’t doubt he’d touched his own cock before this night, but this was something new to him. She savored the pretty sounds she teased from his lips. This one would be responsive to her touch at least, this one wouldn’t lie back and stare at the ceiling like a lifeless doll. 

“Lift your knee, ahhh, now hold it there.” Sigrid straddled his leg and positioned herself over his left knee. She pressed herself against him and rocked back and forth. “Move with me, yes, like that.”

Mica shifted his leg in time with her, watching her with an apparent mixture of fear and curiosity. Sigrid could tolerate a little fear while building on that curiosity. 

“Ah, there you are,” she boldly wrapped her fingers around his hardening length. “Pity you’ll likely not last long in your condition. I’d like to ride this.” 

“Ah … Mistress …” Mica whimpered beneath her. “Please …”

“Please what?” she asked, stroking him more purposefully. 

“Mercy …” Mica pleaded. 

“You have my permission, little one.” She hastened her fingers and smiled as she felt him growing slicker with precome. 

Mica came with a gasp, looking shocked at his own body’s reactions. 

“Now,” Sigrid shifted up on the bed, straddling his shoulders now. “I will teach you how to use that mouth of yours.”

\- - -

Mica woke early, blinking at his unfamiliar surroundings. The night’s events came back to him in a rush: the Warlord, the collar, his cock spilling in her hand, the taste of her in his mouth, the feeling of her beneath his trembling fingers. 

She had not been cruel as he had feared. At times she had even been kind. Hers was not the capricious lust of the Prince, as he had heard the others in the harem report. She had desires yes, and was direct in them, but he had not needed to fear unspoken rules or expectations. 

At least he had survived the ordeal. Mica was eager to return to the harem. Now they could no longer tease him about his virginity at least. 

The Warlord stirred, rising up from the bed and stretching her powerful arms. She smiled in the morning light.

“Good morning, Mistress,” Mica said.

“Ahhhh, it is indeed.” The Warlord ran her fingers through his hair. “I look forward to our winter together, little one.” She slapped a heavy hand on his flank. “I have much yet to teach you.”


End file.
